


The Workhorse

by UNA__RATA



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Making Love, Making Out, Massage, Pegging, Praise Kink, dom!reader, sub!Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 04:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30066963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UNA__RATA/pseuds/UNA__RATA
Summary: Once a prized pony, Arthur has found himself single-handedly carrying the entire camps weight, and it's finally worn him down. Disgusted by how the gang treats him, you drag your sweetheart out of camp for a weekend away, spoiling him to many things: a hot bath, dinner, a massage, and a strap-on.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	The Workhorse

**Author's Note:**

> me?? writing Arthur content??  
> I know I rarely post about him, but I do love Mister Morgan, enough to peg his ass
> 
> Tumblr is @UNA--RATA
> 
> please kudos if you enjoy xx

Here he comes, your other half, trailing back into camp with heavy bags under his eyes; you may be on the other side of the camp, but you can spot how exhausted he is from a mile off. Arthur's back is hunched over, his mouth slightly parted, and the grunt he makes as he forces himself off the saddle makes your heart shatter. Your poor lover, your sweetheart, your darling Arthur, as you like to call him.  
  
You've told certain gang members off before, for making Arthur do all the heavy work whilst other capable members lie back and relax. It's manipulative, conning Arthur into doing all the work simply because he struggles to say no.  
  
Well, enough is enough. You're trailing over to him now, ready to take his saddlebags off him and shoo him into your shared tent. As always, he protests the second you reach out for the bag, but you gently swat his hand away, and poor Arthur doesn't have the energy to refuse again. "Thank you," he replies, barely above a whisper, and takes your hand as you trail him over to your shared tent.  
  
"It's so unfair," you begin to grumble on the walk, hoping that the camp members can overhear you. "Making you do all the work, sweetheart, you're so visibly tired," you sigh.  
  
"It's alright, darlin', I've just had a rough couple of days," Arthur replies, removing his hat as he enters the enclosed tent.  
  
"I'm not having it! not any more!" you grunt, placing Arthurs saddlebags down where they usually go. You turn to Arthur, whose looking down at you with tired eyes. "We're going to get away from here for a few days, somewhere relaxing," you begin telling him as you undress him. Arthur allows you to, knowing he'd happily collapse from exhaustion in his dirty clothes, if you'd let him.  
  
"You got anywhere in mind?" Arthur questions, shrugging his shirt off, followed by kicking off his boots and pants.  
  
"I've seen a cabin not too far from here. It's secluded, surrounded by a pretty landscape, and seemed deserted when I passed by," you explain. You dip a rag into some water, rinsing it before approaching Arthur. In the few seconds that you've turned to get the wash rag ready, he's sat down on the cot, looking like a sad puppy in just his briefs.  
  
"When did you find it? you ain't told me about this place before," Arthur asks, his head lifting as he speaks to you.  
  
"Whilst you were away," you explain.  
  
"Oh," Arthur sighs, watching you slide the cloth across his arm, attempting to clean him from his many layers of dirt. "Must'a been gone for a while."  
  
"Just under two weeks, I was ready to go looking for you," you tell him as you continue to bathe him, trailing the cloth over his other arm.  
  
"Did Dutch ask you to do that?"  
  
"No, I was going to leave on my own accord."  
  
"Was you gonna tell him?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Arthur seems happy with your answer, his eyes following you as you rinse the cloth, watching the water turn brown within seconds. He straightens his back as you clean over his chest, trailing down his stomach, and gliding over his thighs. Once you stand back up, Arthur lets out a yawn, and you tell him that you're almost finished.  
  
He lets out a sigh of relief when you tell him to lie down on his front, letting out a hum of appreciation as you wipe the dirt off his back. Arthur's clean, or as clean as he can be with a wet rag. You can tell how exhausted he is as he shuffles about in your cot, rolling onto his side to free up your side of the bed. You two don't exchange any words, considering Arthur is already fast asleep as you pull the covers up over both of you, blowing out the lantern and curling up behind Arthur. Your arm wriggles beneath his head, your other arm wrapped around his waist, spooning him tenderly for the first time in days.

\----

Dutch received an earful when he tried to protest you taking Arthur away for a relaxing weekend. "But I need him to-" he attempted to say, only for his face to turn white when you snapped, chewing him out, intentionally loud enough for everybody to hear. "Alright, whatever Arthur needs," Dutch eventually agreed, but only because you'd forced him to.  
  
It's unbelievable that his boss, his mentor, his somewhat-father-figure is against Arthur having some time off, a well needed break. Dutch makes passive comments here and there about how tired Arthur constantly looks, and you're surprised he's never suggested that Arthur relaxes, even briefly by the campfire. No bother, you've taken him out of camp to a remote cabin, one that you've spent the last week scouting out.  
  
The cabin is perfect, picturesque and somehow in decent condition. You spent a few days camping nearby, sitting, watching, waiting for anybody to come by and claim it as their own, but no owner showed up, so you're borrowing it. It overlooks a scenic landscape, a view that Arthur enjoyed as he laid back in his bath; the tub is small, but then again, Arthur is a big boy.  
  
He laughed for the first time in weeks as you scrubbed his hair, making playful comments here and there, leaving kisses on his temples after giving him a well needed head massage. Arthur attempted to wash the rest of his body, but you removed the bar of soap from his hand, and told him to enjoy his relaxing weekend.  
  
"My weekend? you really are spoilin' me, ain't you?" Arthur asked with a laugh, and didn't bother protesting. It's clear that Arthur feels guilty, not wanting his weight to be on anybody's shoulders, but he knows you well, and he knows that you won't take no for an answer, not when it comes to caring for your sweetheart.  
  
The only thing Arthur did protest was you drying him off. At first, he was fine with it, until you started drying his bum playfully, to which he swatted you away and reminded you that "I'm a big boy, I know how to dry my behind."  
  
  
Finally, Arthur is clean, relaxing in the nude on the double bed. He looks like a slob, sprawled out across the covers with a tin of peaches sitting on his chest. Every so often, Arthur picks a peach slice out, and slops it into his mouth, gobbing away and letting out a tired sigh.  
  
"What are you sighing for again?" you question, peering your head over your shoulder. You pause your current task, prepping dinner, to speak to him, not wanting to accidentally slice your fingers.  
  
"I just ain't used to relaxin', that's all," Arthur replies before eating another peach slice.  
  
"Well, you'll have to get used to it, cause I ain't lettin' the camp run you dry any more."  
  
"Oh, you gonna put your foot down with them?" he questions, letting out a soft laugh.  
  
"I am," you nod, before turning back to your cooking. "It ain't fair on you, Arthur. I don't see anybody liftin' a finger around that-"  
  
"-Darlin'," Arthur cuts you off. "It's alright, I know what you're sayin'. And like you said, maybe I should start puttin' my foot down with 'em too. Sayin' 'no' and all that. It just... it ain't like me," he sighs.  
  
"I know, Arthur. You've got a heart of gold, even if you won't admit it."  
  
Arthur mumbles something under his breath, and you assume it's along the lines of "no, I don't." Typical, of course he's going to reject praise. Arthur's had it drilled into his head from such a young age that he's a bad man, a killer, a thief, and so on, but you see so much more than that, and you're willing to do whatever it takes to help him at least see a peak of the good man that he truly is.

Dinner is slid into the oven, and you've got at least an hour to kill, possibly more, depending on how old and unkept this oven is. Your shoes were kicked off long ago, and now you're slipping off a few items of clothing, peeling the layers down until you're in just your undergarments. "More treats for me?" Arthur flirts as he watches you undress.  
  
"I'm afraid I ain't wearing the nice lingerie, Arthur," you reply, shaking your head softly.  
  
"All your lingerie is nice! how many times have I gotta tell you that?"  
  
"Oh, I see how it is!" you laugh. "So, you won't let me tell you that you're a good man, but you expect me to listen when you say all my lingerie is nice?" you question, playfully pointing out his hypocrisy as you crawl onto the bed, sitting on your knees beside him.  
  
"That ain't the same," Arthur murmurs, tilting his head to look away from you. He finishes off his final peach slice, placing the empty can on the bedside table, and turns to face you. "So, what now?" he asks.  
  
"Now, you let me give you a massage," you say with a smile.  
  
"A massage?!" Arthur blurts out. "You really are doing everythin' for me this weekend," he laughs, but doesn't protest. Instead, Arthur shuffles down the bed, rolling over onto his front. He bunches up the pillows beneath his head, his broad arms wrapping around them, snuggling down into the feather pillow.  
  
Arthur looks just like he always does - covered in bruises and cuts, his skin worn and flaky, peeling in some places from sunburn that he's caught out on the road. He's truly a rugged, classic cowboy, although Arthur doesn't always like the term. It's been drilled into his head by Dutch that 'outlaw' is the proper term, which is correct, considering Arthur doesn't herd cows for a living.  
  
You reach down over the edge of the bed, fishing into your rucksack for the bottle of massage oil you've brought specifically for this occasion. Arthur has a perfect, peachy behind, that you straddle and sit on, then begin getting to work. The oil is warmed up in your hands before smearing it all over Arthurs back; your hands trail up to his shoulders, coating them with whatever oil is left on your hands, before focusing on the massage.  
  
To nobody's surprise, he's tense, full of knots, lumps and bumps. Arthur reminds you of a workhorse, one that has been left in his harness for far too long; he's not been brushed in a long time, his coat now sticky and matted, and his hooves are overgrown and causing him pain.  
If only there was a way to shame the camp for what they've done, to make it clear just how much they've worn Arthur down, far beyond his bones.  
  
Thankfully, Arthur lets out sighs of relief, pleasant hums, small words of appreciation like "right there," and "oh, another knot?"  
His eyes are shut throughout it all, complimenting his relaxed face, but on the odd occasion, Arthurs brows do furrow as you work away another knot. You continue your trail, over his arms, down his shoulder blades, along his spine, and without thinking, you start massaging his bum.  
  
At first, Arthur laughs, and thinks you're joking. "You want me to stop?" you question.  
  
"...Nah, it's quite nice, actually," Arthur encourages, and chuckles to himself as you continue, playfully kneading at each of his cheeks.  
  
You shuffle down the bed as you go, spending far too long on his thighs; they're solid, as hard as his biceps and chest, and you question if he could crush somebody's skull between them. He continues showing his appreciation through the same small comments and pleasant sounds, but does grumble as you defeat a knot in his calf.  
  
  
Your hands trail up his body again, much quick this time, and return to playfully massaging his bum. "You really like m'peach, don't you?" Arthur says with a laugh, his eyes still shut, not paying much attention to your playfulness.  
  
"I do, you must do a lot of squats on your travels," you reply.  
  
"I guess I do, between everythin' else."  
  
Jealous is an understatement, it's downright unfair that Arthur Morgan has an ass this fine. However, as you're massaging away, an idea crosses your mind. You can't deny that you didn't prepare for this, wanting to be ready for whatever Arthur needs this weekend, so why not give it a try?  
  
You continue massaging away, innocent as always, but you slide the pad of your finger between his cheeks, making sure it trails over his entrance. Arthur doesn't react, and you assume he thinks you made a mistake, so you slide your finger over again.  
  
This time, Arthur lets out a hum, and that's it, that's all you manage to draw out from him. He'd tell you to stop, if he wanted you to, but he hasn't, so you continue. You eventually put your focus on his entrance, momentarily moving away to slick your fingers up in oil. Arthur lets out a deep exhale as your damp fingers press against his entrance, rubbing over his holes in circles, testing the waters before dipping in.  
  
Arthur lets out a sigh as you start pushing a finger in, only sinking your finger down to the first joint. You pause, and check to see how Arthur's doing; he's golden, a soft smile across his lips, and you're happy with how willing he seems. You then push down to the next joint. To your surprise, Arthur pushes his hips up, rutting against your fingers, pushing your finger into him until he reaches your knuckle.  
  
His hips return to resting on the bed, and he lets you take the lead, slowly working your single digit in and out of him. Arthur lets out the softest sighs you've ever heard, barely above a whisper, clearly enjoying the _special attention_ that you've giving him.  
  
Once he feels ready, you begin slipping another finger in. This time, Arthur moans, his eyes remaining shut as you begin slowly fucking him with your fingers. "Damn," Arthur whimpers as you reach your knuckles.  
  
"This alright?" you question.  
  
"Yeah, real alright," Arthur moans. "Although, this ain't what I expected when you said you were gonna take care of me," he says with a soft laugh.  
  
"You let me know if you want me to stop," you reassure him, but your words are cut short as Arthur protests.  
  
"I won't be needin' to do that."  
  
"Oh? I think you forgot something, Arthur," you tut. Your voice is firm, a tone that you only use when needed, and Arthur picks up on it straight away.  
  
"I'm sorry... Miss," he sighs.  
  
"That's better, good boy."  
  
Arthur begins gripping at the pillow, bunching the thick fabric up in his fists, his head burying into it as you begin scissoring him, preparing him as much as you can. It's been so long since he received this kind of _treatment_ , always so busy with work, always away on his travels, resorting to using his own hand whenever he can. It's rare that you two are left alone, and even rarer to be in a quiet and comfortable setting, so you might as well make the most of it.

"You feel ready, Arthur," you comment as you roll onto your side, relaxing on the bed beside him. Arthur finally peeks up, his eyes meeting yours, blown and hazy, entranced by your magic.  
  
"Ready for what, Miss?" he questions.  
  
"How's about I show you?" you suggest, tilting your head to latch your lips onto Arthurs. He kisses you tenderly, as always, his lips trailing over yours as light as a feather. Arthur lets out a whimper, crying into your mouth as you begin moving your fingers again; he continues his attempt at kissing you, but can't help the mewls that escape his lips as you continue toying with him.  
  
You break the kiss, your eyes meeting Arthurs; he's gazing at you lovingly, with a layer of lust drawn over him. "Please show me, Miss," Arthur begs.  
  
A soft kiss is placed on Arthur forehead as you slip your fingers from him, wiping yourself off on the covers before shuffling back up onto your knees. "No peeking," you order, and you watch as Arthur turns his head back against the pillow, shutting his eyes.  
  
You don't take too long to get ready, knowing exactly how to fasten this strap on. It always feels a little odd at first, foreign and somewhat sin-worthy, as you know neither of you should be doing this, but who's going to arrest you? God?  
  
You return to straddling Arthur, your cock slapping his butt cheek as you settle down. Arthur instantly knows what's in store for him, "I knew it," he mutters under his breath.  
  
"Don't get cheeky with me, boy," you teasingly prod.  
  
Arthur lets out a soft chuckle as he replies "I won't, Miss."  
  
You use some more oil to slick your cock up, adding a generous amount, before lining yourself up against Arthurs entrance. Slowly, you begin pushing in. Arthur deeply exhales as the tip enters him, his sigh turning into a long, drawn out moan as you sink deeper.  
  
Once fully sheathed, you hold yourself there, letting Arthur relax around your length. He's already panting, his eyes scrunched shut, his forehead slightly sweaty. Within time, Arthur calms down, and gives you a small nod to indicate that he's ready.  
  
You take it slow, watching as your cock disappears, then reappears. "Good boy," you coo, placing a kiss on Arthur shoulder blade. His cheeks are turning redder by the second, and he shifts his upper body upright, lying like a sphinx; it's the perfect position, you're able to thrust your cock down into Arthur, whilst having easy access to his neck and shoulders, soon to be covered in kisses.  
  
After some time, you pick up the pace. Arthur begins moaning, babbling out phrases like "thank you, Miss" and "yes please, Miss."  
  
"This is exactly what you need, isn't it?" you comment.  
  
Arthur's about to reply, but you slam your cock sharply into him, cutting his words short as he falls limp against the pillow. He stutters a few times before managing to show his appreciation, "it is, Miss."  
  
"And you look so pretty, as always, Arthur. Such a pretty boy, taking this strap for me."  
  
You feel Arthur tense up at your comment; he's fighting the urge to reject your praise, constantly thinking he doesn't deserve it. Arthur licks his lips before replying, "I am, Miss."  
  
"Good boy," you smile, dipping your head down to kiss his cheek. "My good boy," you correct yourself.  
  
"Your good boy," Arthur nods in agreement, before burying his head in the pillow, his hands gripping at it yet again.  
  
  
The pace you're going at is comfortable, not too slow, and not too fast; you're not being a tease, nor are you breaking a sweat, but it seems it's enough to make Arthur begin hitting peak. He always lets out specific moans when he's about to cum, only you're not ready for this to be over, not just yet.  
  
"Don't cum yet, sweetheart," you order in a soft and sweet tone.  
  
"M'tryin', it's just... it's been so long," Arthur whimpers. His head turns slightly as he talks, showing off his vibrant cheeks, and the glow of sweat painted across his face.  
  
"I know, Arthur," you sigh, kissing his shoulder. "But we've got all weekend to catch up," you smile, and return to your steady pace.  
  
Arthur's practically melted on the bed, sandwiched between you and the mattress. He already looks debauched, no doubt he'll need a towel bath before bed, if the bed is still sleepable, as you're almost certain Arthur has left a puddle of pre-cum atop of it. Oh well, you brought spare blankets for a reason.  
  
"M-Miss... I can't," Arthur pants. "You gotta... you gotta let me," he pleads. Arthur sounds like he's about to burst into tears, and you accept his plead by slipping out of him.  
  
"Roll over," you order, and Arthur flips over milliseconds after you order him to, eager as always.  
  
You shuffle down the bed and wrap your lips around his cock, to which Arthur practically sobs. He cums instantly, his hand resting on the back of your head, not pushing you down, but relaxing there instinctively. Arthur lets out a trail of sighs and moans, thanking you over and over. You milk him for all he's worth, running your tongue along his overly-sensitive shaft before sliding off him with a ' _pop_.'  
  
You've barely swallowed when Arthur grabs you, pulling you up against him. "Your turn, Miss," he blurts out, rushing to slip his hand between your legs. He dips beneath your strap, sinking his fingers into you, and curls them, rutting them perfectly. Arthur knows what he's doing, he knows your body better than you do, and you feel yourself tightening around him moments later, squirming against him as you cum.  
  
Near the end of your orgasm, Arthur catches your lips with his, and uses his spare hand to pull you down into a deep kiss. You're both starving, letting tongues slide against each other, noses bumping slightly, moans and groans escaping between kisses. Eventually, the kiss relaxes, as well as your bodies, falling limp atop of him.  
  
Arthur slips his fingers from you, wiping himself off on the covers before wrapping his arms around you. "God damn," he mutters, then places a kiss to your temple. "I needed that, I really needed that... thank you."  
  
"You ain't gotta thank me, Arthur," you reply as you trail your fingertips across his chest.  
  
Arthur doesn't verbally reply, instead, he gives you a slight squeeze during the cuddle. You're both exhausted, drained on the first day of your weekend away, but you'll probably be refreshed by the time morning rolls around, ready to wake Arthur up with another surprise.  
  
The silence is soon broken as Arthur sniffs the air, his nose scrunching up at the scent. "You smell somethin'?" he questions.  
  
"Shit, the dinner!!"


End file.
